The Face of the Enemy
by Swiss Army Knife
Summary: Wounded and ill, Kakashi and Iruka must entrust themselves to the protection of an innkeeper who hates shinobi.
1. Chapter 1

**The Face of the Enemy**

Swiss Army Knife

* * *

"Prejudice cannot see the things that are

because it is always looking for things that aren't."

- Mark Twain

* * *

**Part One**

The innkeeper woke up every morning to the cold floorboard beside her bed, where once a small futon had been stretched. She would turn on her side, knead her arthritic hands, and allow the old grief to tie itself into a hard knot inside her chest. Only then did she get out of bed.

She would pin back her long, grey hair and tie a matronly apron over her lap. Then to the _kamidana_, the little family shrine, to light incense. The smell would waft around her like an unhappy ghost, and afterwards she would walk with heavy steps to the kitchen, where Sonosuke would already be preparing breakfast if he knew what was good for him.

The work of running the inn began as the sun made its slow path through the rowen and aspen trees of the high wood. She and her husband had established their business at the base of the mountain as a place to make a gentle living with their daughter, but the borders had grown unstable. Twice, in one year, they had paid taxes – to two different Lords. And with these power struggles, violence had come to the forest and to the little inn on the edge of two lands.

"Ota-san," Sonosuke greeted her cheerfully. She watched him heft fuel to carry to the bedroom stoves. He had a stubble of whiskers and was getting on in years, but she kept him on. He minded the repairs and was strong enough to keep out the general riffraff. The usual riraff, but not all.

Her face clenched with anger, and she thought, _No, not all._

* * *

It was very late in the evening when the sound of wood sliding on its tracks announced Sonosuke, whose worried frown slipped inside her door. "Ota-san, there's someone coming," he said. "Not from the road. The woods."

Her hand paused, poised over her ledger. A tremor of fear went through her, because it was too late for regular guests. Nonetheless, she put on her dressing gown and followed Sonosuke. Although it was no protection, she also slipped the knife she used to open envelopes into the quilted pocket of her gown.

In the dark, gathering elevation of the forest, it was possible to hear the approach. The ground's thick blanket of fall leaves crackled. Branches snapped and popped, and for a moment Ota allowed herself to believe they were safe, because surely shinobi wouldn't make so much noise. Then the brush parted and two figures came staggering out.

At first they were indistinct from one another, formless, until the faint light of the lantern made it possible to see that one was draped over the other's back. The taller man had a long, pale arm clenched tightly around his companion's neck, and the other stumbled under their combined weight, almost falling. Sonosuke moved instinctively to help, but Ota caught his arm.

Even from this distance she could smell the blood, and it froze every compassionate bone of her body.

They stepped nearer, and the one who was upright panted under his burden. In the low light, she could barely make out his face, but she could tell that he was young and that his threadbare clothing was soaked through.

The stranger didn't seem to have the strength to bow, but he tried to duck his head. The head resting on his shoulder moved with him, dark and light hair shifting together, and the ailing man produced a low moan. Lines of concern framed the strained dark eyes that sought hers. He asked, "Please. He's not well. Will you shelter us here?"

Ota wasn't moved by his plea. She knew who these men were – _what_ they were – but never before had they come to her wounded. It put her in a position she had never imagined. To give herself time to think, she questioned, "Who are you?"

"We came to be hired at the dam site, but when we started working, it was –" The stranger's account trailed off, his features becoming pinched as though he couldn't find words for the suffering they'd experienced.

Ota could feel Sonosuke softening beside her. It was a plausible story. Everyone hated that wretched dam. The daimyo rearranged the land without thinking of the damage or the conditions endured by the workers. But she trusted this sad tale as much as she would the keening of a fox with his foot caught in a snare. A sympathizer would receive nothing but a mangled hand.

"What is your name?"

The flickering hesitation was almost indiscernible. "Iruka," the man answered.

"And your friend?"

A greater pause. "Kakashi," he said finally, and a weary smile flitted over his lips. Ota was disgusted. Did he really expect her to believe such nonsense? But the man who claimed to be called Iruka did not argue with her apparent disbelief. Instead, he repeated, "Will you let us stay here?"

Sonosuke moved forward before she could respond and wordlessly took part of the weight of the unconscious man on his own shoulders. "There's a room in the back." He looked right at her as he suggested it. "It's dusty. We don't use it."

A moment of pure anger flew through Ota. She did not want these…_these_ in her house. Hadn't she endured enough? When the patrols came through and she had no choice but to entertain them, wasn't that already too much to bear? But then, even now there was only a parody of a choice. The loose, torn clothes kept them out of sight, but there were surely hidden teeth. Sonosuke's broader shoulders were an illusion.

Ota pushed open the door and stood aside.

* * *

Sonosuke brought them bedding and steaming water. The dark young man was not shy about stripping off his companion's damp, muddy clothes – all, Ota noticed, except for the mask clinging around the pale throat. It obscured the lower half of the face it covered, like a veil over a bride. Iruka left it in place until he had, with difficulty, eased the prone body into the warmth of the futon and drawn the covers high.

Why? From her hidden place by the door, Ota wondered. Would that carefully guarded face match the visage of a wanted man? Yet the carefulness used to preserve this privacy wasn't anxious. Instead, she found herself thinking that it was a protective action, as if he were defending a dignity that she didn't know.

The lamp burned low as the oil ebbed; the warm water sunk low in its bowl and cooled. It was nearly dawn before all was settled and the one who called himself Iruka came to where she still waited. His weariness was like a cloak he wore, yet he still met her unsympathetic eyes. She led him to her own room and leaned against the dresser. There were only a few things on it: a bone comb, a covered jar of ointment, and a small, faded portrait. She averted her eyes.

She'd had had all night to think about what to say. "You won't be able to move him for a long time, not if you want him to live. Not for at least two weeks." She'd heard the rattle in the narrow chest – pneumonia. Untended, in a winter forest, it would be a death sentence.

There was nothing he could do but agree. "Yes."

"He'll need rest, medicine, shelter. Food."

Out of the corner of her eye, Ota saw Iruka's throat working, and this was the test. She had him backed into a corner, and it was in this moment that he might lash out. Then he would demand what he needed and take it by force. He might even kill her – but she didn't think so.

In her mind was the memory of blankets being pulled up with great care. She could read his worry right now, hidden under the studied, blank neutrality. He cared for the comrade lying on the floor of her house, swaddled in the warmth of her linens and breathing within the safety of her walls. He would need cooperation to properly care for him and also stay hidden.

If pushed, she knew he would abandon the sick one. It was all they knew, these soldiers. They were masters of selfish purposes. But, for now at least, she had him – trapped by whatever flimsy loyalty was between these two men.

She waited to see if he might snap, but he remained still and silent. His hand had not even made a fist. More sure of herself, Ota proceeded to ask the damning question: "Do you have any money?"

She had known the answer even before she asked, but it still gave her some satisfaction to see him pale. "I don't have any money – or anything of value."

"And yet you ask for my help," she scoffed and shook her head. Quietly, she went on, "But I will let you pay. For the room, and whatever else he'll need. You'll pay for my silence too, do you understand?"

He said nothing, but his deep, dark eyes gazed into her face steadily, and again her anger flared because he refused to admit the truth. She snatched up her comb, wishing it were a weapon, and whirled to face him. "You will work for me," she snarled. "Whatever I say, you'll do. And if you ever get different ideas – I'd like to see you try to keep him safe in this place by yourself. Patrols come by all the time!"

He looked at her, weighed her, and then he did something she didn't expect. Slowly, with difficulty, he sunk to his knees and bowed until his forehead touched the floor. "I'll work for you," he vowed. "Shelter him, and I'll pay any way you like."

Ota was shaken. She had not expected – could not have expected – such a show of humility, and for a moment it stroked her conscience. It made her feel guilty that she would threaten a wounded man, that she would demand payment from someone in such dire need. But just as shame began to work on her, a little corpse and a streak of blood came wailing into her memory, and all ability to feel shut down.

She turned her back. "You'll be no use to anyone today. Go tend your friend. Sleep. You can begin work tomorrow at first light. Sonosuke will show you."

It took him more than one try to stand. The first time his knee gave out from under him. However, once he had reached the threshold, he paused and found her eye in the dresser mirror.

"Thank you, Lady," he said.

Ota remained leaning over her bureau, collecting the ragged edges of herself, for a long time after she heard the door click shut.

* * *

After the fires had been banked, Ota summoned Sonosuke. "Tomorrow, I want you to take our guest out to the copse of wood behind the shed. He can spend the day there."

Sonosuke rubbed his cloth hat off his head, pressing it between his palms. "That's awfully hard work for an invalid," he remarked. "Suppose I show him how to winter the garden instead?"

"No," Ota answered, taking down the last pin from her hair. It had grown very grey; the two hard bits of slate that were her eyes matched it exactly. "I want him given hard work. Let him use a little of his strength to ease our labor. Why not?"

"We already got all we need." Sonosuke tried once more to sway her, but she would not budge.

"The extra wood will never be wasted in a place like this. Now do as I say."

The length of time it took for Sonosuke to replace his cap made his movements seem doubtful, but he didn't challenge her. "Yes, Ota-san," he said, and wished her good-night.

The soothing ointment took some of the pain from her hands, but as Ota began to crawl into her bed, she was struck with a desire to look in on her unwelcome guests. The hall was dim, but the boards had been cut evenly and didn't creak. She came to the entry and peered inside.

There were many pillows propped behind the sick man's back. However, even with them, Ota could still hear the labored breathing and see the high flush over sallow cheeks. Clearly the illness had become critical; the fever was spiking.

Iruka was bathing his companion in an attempt to control his temperature, but sometimes the breathing would still catch and – terrifyingly – falter. As she watched, a particularly bad episode seized Kakashi. He fought to free the obstruction, but his body was too weak even to curl inward or contract as he coughed. He made wretched, drowning sounds.

Iruka intervened. Dragging his companion up from the pallet, he pulled them together, chest to chest. After a while, the leverage seemed to help. Too feeble to do anything else, the pale man rested his cheek trustingly against his companion's neck and continued breathing while the cloth returned, wiping away the perspiration from his forehead.

Feeling like an invader, Ota turned away and went to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

The next morning, Iruka rose wearily and forced himself to go to work. He took the axe and, all day long, the forest resounded with the _thunk_ of steel biting into wood. There were times he felt wrecked, unable to lift the handle for one more swing, but a lifetime of disciplining his body allowed him to continue. Only to check on Kakashi did he occasionally stop. Aside from that, he pushed himself until the sun began to fall. He knew the innkeeper was listening, and he wanted her to hear.

The manservant of the house didn't approve of his mistress's decision. More than once during the day, he brought Iruka water, but it wasn't until the chores were done that he emerged from the kitchen, bearing a steaming bowl.

"I brought you something to eat - no, don't tell me you've 'et. That weak broth may be good for him, but after today you need something substantial. Neither of you are much more than bones."

Iruka accepted the warm rice porridge gratefully, but winced when the heat stung his raw hands. He set the bowl down and laughed inwardly. A very short time ago, his life was endangered by his mission, but today his pain came from splinters and hard labor.

A sound in the hallway drew his attention, and he turned in time to see a shadow pass over the door, and then it was gone.

Sonosuke looked too, and his mouth became a thin line. "Please don't think bad of her," he said. "She's a real good lady, down underneath. She just can't let go."

Iruka nodded. From their first meeting, he thought he saw an emotion that he recognized: devastation, loss. Her coldness wasn't a hard puzzle to figure out after that.

Sonosuke arranged himself on the _tatami_, stretching his back until it popped. Then he searched his apron and withdrew a pair of tweezers. "Let me have a look, then."

Chagrined, Iruka presented his hands and let the warm grasp of the older man pry at the tiny wounds.

"Iruka, huh?" he began by way of conversation. "That's a strange name in these parts."

"It's strange in most parts," Iruka remarked, surprised as to find he still had the energy to smile, even dryly.

Sonosuke's grip around the tweezers was deft. The ends clicked skillfully, prodding at his palm. "It was working the dam that drew you here?"

Yes, in a very literal sense. He and Kakashi had been assigned to investigate it – well, he had been assigned to investigate, as a worker. Kakashi, in his usual stubborn-headed way, hadn't been content to hang back and wait. He should never have been on the crest of that dam. The memory of tons of pounding water momentarily overcame Iruka, and he had to shake his head to force the echo away.

"These splinters are pretty deep. Wore straight through the calluses."

"Wrong kind of calluses," Iruka said wryly. He looked around at the warm bed, the continually renewed bowl of water, and thought of how lucky they had been. "Thank you for your help. Thank you for everything."

Sonosuke leveled a keen eye on him, then nodded. "He seems better today. Fever broke?"

"Late last night," Iruka answered without bothering to mask his relief. He looked over at the prone form of Kakashi, resting easier even if his breathing did sound terrible. "Though he's still very weak."

Sonosuke gave his shoulder a light swat, drawing his attention. "You've done all that can be done," he said. "The rest is up to him. Though, the way you boys came in..." He shook his head.

That night was still crowded very close in Iruka's memory. First the perilously cold water, the foam of the gnashing, pulsing falls that obscured his vision completely even as he blindly groped through the water. Of sobbing with relief when he found Kakashi and dragged them both ashore. Minutes of terror, pumping, forcing breath into still lungs. Then the long journey down the mountain, with the shouts of pursuers behind him. The trees all strangers, the weather an enemy...

Iruka pasted a self-deprecating smile on his face. "I'm just glad we came upon this place. I wasn't sure how much further I could carry him, all bones or not."

"Dead weight and worry make for a heavy load," the old man commented, tying off the last bandage. "There. Wiggle your fingers. Yep, just right. What say I get your back, now? No, no use denying it. I saw the wash water before you threw it out. _He_ wasn't bleeding."

It wasn't a good feeling, being cornered like that. Iruka felt his hackles rise, but Sonosuke's eyes were patient. Finally, reluctantly, he turned around and pulled his jacket off his stiff shoulders. Sonosuke had to tease the cotton undershirt away from where sticky fluid had seeped through. He made a tsking sound.

Iruka knew what he saw. Amidst the more common bruises were inch long cuts – not ragged, but precise and quite deep, tapered to a triangle. There were at least seven across his shoulders and back, and they were entirely damning. Shuriken left distinctive marks. He sat tensely while the man looked them over and waited for his verdict; succor or condemnation.

Sonosuke sighed. "I'll be needing to open them up again, to let them bleed out a little of the infection. But my hands aren't so steady as they once were. They might slip – make these look a little less clean."

Iruka's shoulders relaxed in a great rush. He hadn't realized how much he had been depending on a friendly answer. "I understand," he said, giving permission. "Do what you have to do."

It was hard to remain still while Sonosuke first cut his wounds into less distinctive threats, then pulled them together with thread – in and out, again and again – but Iruka was by that time past the threshold where individual pains were possible. His arms and back were one solid ache.

"There," Sonosuke said when he had finished, setting his hand very carefully against the inflamed skin. "Given a few days to heal, you should move a lot better." He stood, his knees cracking, and smiled warmly down on Iruka. "Try to get some rest tonight, eh?"

Once he left, the hurt that Iruka had been keeping at bay all day rushed in upon him and sapped his remaining strength. He looked dumbly at his bandaged hands, then turned to gaze at Kakashi. He was so still, almost deathly still, and Iruka reassured himself by letting his fingers reach out and rest over the pulse point at the slack wrist.

Finally, he allowed his tattered consciousness to be beaten into submission by brute exhaustion. He stretched out beside the futon, thinking, '_One day's payment made,' _and grinned crookedly. He fell asleep with his hand still under the blanket, feeling the beat of Kakashi's steady heart.

* * *

In the following days, Ota put Iruka to any kind of work she could think of. He stripped the empty rooms, brushed the _tatami_, and cleaned under the floorboards. He beat laundry and rearranged the attic. He helped with the regular chores too.

Sonosuke didn't approve. More than once, he confronted her about how hard she was pushing. "An injured man needs rest," he put forth.

She was unmoved. In her heart, she thought, _'Shinobi are not men. They're animals.'_

This was a belief that had protected her for years, allowing her to cope with the personal tragedy that had befallen her family. Time and again, she had seen it proved; the brutishness, the irreverence for life. Never before had her worldview been challenged.

But though the little clues about his identity continued to pile up around him like coins in a prayer box, Iruka didn't act like any shinobi she had ever known. He was respectful, for one, and obeyed her no matter what she asked. And though every night she meticulously went over the inn's valuables, nothing was ever missing.

In other things, too, he was different. One day, she came across him crouched outside in the grass when one of the inn's kittens wandered up to him curiously. She froze, but all he did was stroke the little animal's nose, a smile of simple pleasure flitting over his face.

Ota had fled from that scene. She hadn't wanted to see him behaving so painfully human.

In his relationship with his comrade, Ota was also at a loss. The sick man was making a slow but steady recovery. While he was still barely able to lift his head and slept most of the time, he was now taking food. Every time she saw Iruka patiently siphoning water or soup into his friend's mouth or sitting up into the early morning when the stubborn fever made a recurrence, she became more confused.

In frustration, she pushed Iruka harder, goading him, but never once did he lose his temper. He kept to his foolish story about the dam too. She overheard him talking about it to the other guests, who worriedly inquired about its progress. His job had been emptying mortar beneath the water line, he said. It was hard; the workers were sometimes beaten, and the food was stringently rationed. He left after an accident, in which someone was thrown from the top of the great wall.

Lies, she knew. But she couldn't catch him in them.

"Perhaps you'd like to write a letter," she baited him one night. "To your family, or your village. Perhaps they would send money, or travel here to bring you home."

Iruka's hands stilled over the root vegetables he was peeling, and he stared at her, wearing the hardest look she had yet seen. He asked, "What do you want?"

She wanted him to admit that he was one of those beasts who ruined whatever they touched. To say that he was a killer, and end her confusion. Her thoughts must have been plain on her face, because he suddenly looked like he felt sorry for her.

"I don't want to send a letter," he said. "But thank you, Ota-san."

Her hands shook, she was so furious. She could barely stand it. "You will clean out the boiler room tomorrow. I don't want to see even a speck of dirt!" she snapped.

Iruka bowed his head.

* * *

It was probably inevitable that a patrol would come to the inn while the two strangers were staying there. Nonetheless, when they barged into the common room as though they owned it, demanding service and drink, she was as startled as she always was. These were the shinobi she knew. They were aggressive and unpredictable, sometimes sullen and other times jovial. Since today they were there to relax and not to menace, they quickly grew drunk. They bullied Sonosuke and Iruka, who'd been called on to serve, reminding Ota once more why she refused to take on female staff.

Iruka bustled beside Sonosuke, slipping through the rowdy crowd and wearing a harried look on his face, but Ota could see through him. She knew his flustered expression was hiding real anxiety. There was sweat beading his forehead; the hall to the back room was not so long.

The shinobi captain was lounging in a chair, oozing a complacent supremacy that made Ota sick. He motioned her closer.

"Perhaps you can provide us with some information," he said. "We've been looking for an enemy shinobi who was interfering with the dam. He fell from the wall, but it's been a week and we haven't dredged the body, so it's possible he escaped. You haven't had anyone suspicious come through, have you? A man with white hair."

Inside Ota there was a darkness, a place where the very worse she was capable of resided. These ugliest of impulses fed on her vices: on rage, on pain, and on meanness of spirit. She had been cultivating that part of herself without knowing it, and before she had even formed a coherent plan, she heard herself speaking.

"I recently hired a man who came from that way." She hailed Iruka, and waited until he separated warily from the raucous crowd and came to stand beside her. "These shinobi are looking for someone – a man with white hair – and they're asking if anyone has seen him. Didn't you come from the dam? Perhaps a week or so ago?"

Iruka looked at her with eyes that were round and rimmed with white. Wordlessly, hollowly, they resonated with her treachery.

_'Tell your lie now,'_ she thought, _'Or reveal what you are and flee, abandoning him as I know you will. Give up your friend. Betray him.'_

Everything became slow and noiseless. There was a heaviness in the air. It lasted until Iruka swallowed and quietly admitted, "Yes, I came from that way."

The shinobi captain rose, pushing the chair back and away. "Perhaps we should have a talk," he said.

Iruka backed up a step, only to find himself in the waiting grip of another shinobi. His head whipped around, but there wasn't any escape. Not without unmasking himself. He let them lead him out the back door. Ota watched them go, and then she deliberately closed her ears to anything but the guttural disorder all around her.

* * *

After they had taken Iruka away, Ota waited for an order to search the house that never came. The men drank until they passed out, and when they left in the morning without laying down so much as a penny, Iruka was still there.

"Alive?"

"Yes, he's alive," Sonosuke snapped the words at her, as though to say, _'No thanks to you.'_ He moved aggressively around the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil on the stove. "I'm putting him to bed."

"He has work to do," she heard herself saying.

Sonosuke glared, and for the first time he openly defied her. "No," he said and continued gathering articles into his apron: rolled bandages, salve. He poured boiled water from the kettle and lifted the bowl and towels into his arms. Before he left, he said sharply, "You should stay away."

She did for most of the day, but in the end she had to see him. She slipped into the backroom, lit only by a lamp covered with a paper shade.

She whispered, "Why didn't you run? They weren't looking for you."

Iruka was curled on his side, facing Kakashi. "Did you think I would give him up?"

Shinobi were brutes, all of them. They stole. They murdered. Not one of them knew true honor, or loyalty, or love. So why, if that was true, did she feel like the betrayer?

Iruka's face turned up in the near dark, and just as when they first met it was hard to see his features. But she could smell the blood.

"Why do you hate us?" he asked hoarsely.

She fled from the room, and in the safety of her own bedroom, she put her face in her hands.

* * *

The back room was quiet for the next few days, at the same time the first frozen spell seized the wood. Frost coated every surface in a delicate white veil, and the leaves browned and finally gave up their last handholds. Winter had come.

They kept a fire going all day in the kitchen and common room, but still it was cold. Ota had spoken little since the party of shinobi had come. The clean-up effort took days, but it was manual work and left her with plenty of time to think.

Sonosuke looked in on Iruka and Kakashi and brought them meals. Mostly they slept, he said. Ota didn't know if it was true. Since the night Iruka had asked her, '_Why do you hate us?_' she had not been back.

That night she couldn't sleep. Even in her snug bed off the floor, the drafts were enough to keep her awake. The wind whistled hauntingly outside. It fed her troubled thoughts. Finally, she slipped into her house shoes.

Once more, the boards did not creak to announce her coming. She entered the room without a sound. She could see Iruka lying on the _tatami_, covered by a coarse blanket. Even from where she stood she could see he was shivering.

She intended to move closer, but something suddenly seized her, and she froze where she stood. Slowly, her eyes trailed over the room for the disturbance, and _there_ – she looked on in paralyzed silence – was an eye.

It was like nothing she'd ever seen. Blood red, but, in the wan light of the stove's coals, somehow fletched with color. An illusion of the dark made it seem to swim as she watched, and she felt suddenly light-headed. The eye pinned her, fiercely, undeniably _angry_, and that was when she realized.

Kakashi.

It came to her on a shallow intake of breath. She hadn't even glanced at him when she entered the room. She had never been here when he was awake. It was the first time she had ever looked at him in the eye, and in that instant of connection she knew that he hated her.

Only when she let the thick comforter from her bed down over Iruka's shoulders did the eye close and let her loose of its whirling gaze.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for taking the time leave your comments or copy-and-paste lines that stuck out to you. I appreciate it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

* * *

Miracle of miracles – he was practically upright. Propped high on pillows, Kakashi looked on benevolently at a world that remained just a bit hazy and relished this moment of full consciousness for the precious thing that it was.

Iruka sat beside his bed, just as he had for so many days, and flourished a bright orange fruit at him. "Tada," he said. "I'm sorry it's not a pineapple, but this will have to do."

Kakashi's quiet laugh turned into a rattling cough. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and when he spoke, he found that lack of use had made his voice strangely croaky. "Don't make me laugh, Sensei. I might keel over."

"Keeling? I'd like to see you do any kind of bending. You couldn't even beat a centipede out of a shoe," Iruka rebuffed, but his voice was almost fierce, and his hands fumbled around the knife.

Kakashi reached out to stop the movement. "I'll be fine. You got me out of the water in time. You saved me. It's about time you returned the favor."

With his face lowered, the loose strands of brown hair shielded Iruka's expression, but it was still possible to hear the low bark of something too bitter to be laughter. "Maybe so," he said, lowering the fruit to his lap. "But I wouldn't have had to if you had just followed orders."

Kakashi had strong feelings about orders that required him to stand by while someone hurt Iruka. He frowned severely. "Did you just want me to watch?"

"Yes." Iruka didn't even hesitate. "I was just a civilian to them."

"They would have thrown you off that wall. _After_ they were done with you."

"And instead, look what happened." Iruka's voice sunk, barely audible. "We were both lucky. With the dark, and the water so strong. What if I hadn't found you?"

"You did," Kakashi rasped, wincing at how raw his throat felt.

Iruka made a face. "Stop talking before you hurt yourself. Here, the fruit may help."

Kakashi glanced at the offering and made an exaggerated face of disgust. "I hate persimmons."

"Tough. That's all that grows here," Iruka said. Then, seeing Kakashi's set face, he wheedled, "Surely you wouldn't turn down my gift."

There was an outraged pause while Kakashi considered this bribery, but in the end he could only sigh with resignation. He opened his mouth and obediently bit down around the fruit. Ack. It was just how he remembered it – like a tomato, but sweet. Though, he had to admit, the cool juice did have a soothing effect.

Around a mouthful, he glared. "You're evil, Sensei. I always knew."

"My students would agree with you," Iruka agreed, but the remark was proceeded by melancholy. Kakashi didn't have to be a genius to realize he was thinking about his kids.

He cleared his throat. "Not much longer, Sensei."

"It doesn't matter," Iruka responded. Leaning over his lap, he embraced himself and rubbed vigorously. The temperature was dreadfully low tonight, even with the tiny stove to heat the enclosed space.

Kakashi grasped the comforter Iruka had acquired and weakly raised the edge. "Lay down," he commanded.

Iruka relented without argument, sinking down with a sigh of relief that turned into a muffled grunt of discomfort. He still wasn't completely healed from what the patrol had done to him. Angry, Kakashi willed strength back into his own body. He hated being so helpless, leaving his comrade to protect him.

He thought Iruka was already asleep, but a whispered voice suddenly reached his ear. "They may come looking again. When they still can't find a body."

Kakashi said, "Shh."

* * *

It was a slow night. The only guests were a young married couple, still dewy-eyed with new love, all shy touches and secret smiles they believed no one else could see. Ota kept an eye on them, but generally they stayed to themselves. She was about to douse the lamps and usher them to their room, when a noise from the road caught her attention. Voices, loud and brash, was accompanied by laughter that made her heart jump to her throat.

The doors flew open before she could warn away the couple or call to Sonosuke. They came in with a swagger, and when she saw the black look in their eyes, all hope of getting through the night unscathed died within her. These men were not just here to get drunk on a night off-duty. They had come to cause trouble.

"Got anything to drink, Obaa-san?" One asked when she approached them stiffly, trying to make a barrier between herself and her wide-eyed guests. His uniform jacket was tight across broad shoulders, and his lanky hair hung low over his forehead.

"We don't have any," Ota said coolly. "Your friends drank it all last week, and I haven't replenished my stores."

The men looked at each other in disgust, but they weren't ready to give up. The man who had spoken before leered. "Girls, then?"

Ice poured straight through to Ota's core. It took every inch of her control to remain rigid and calm. "This isn't a brothel."

"That's not what I asked, is it?" The man's eyes swung around and lit wickedly when he spotted the young woman huddled next to her husband. He stalked over to grab her arm. "Here we go."

The man flew up, his instinct to protect her his only weapon. His wife shrieked when he was thrown aside. She tried to wrench free and go to him, but the bastard who held her only twisted her closer and whispered in her ear. She began crying uncontrollably.

Ota reacted without thinking. A vase appeared in her hands, and she ran, dashing it as high as she could against the shinobi's shoulder. It shattered, and the sudden shock of pain must have been acute because the man let the girl go with a yell. He struck out backhanded by pure instinct, but even that sent Ota into a crumpled heap. Her head hit the floorboards, and stars swam before her eyes.

"You're going to regret that!"

The angry exclamation was accompanied by a glancing kick. It jarred Ota back to consciousness and she looked up fearfully into her assailant's furious face. He raised his hand, and she saw the end of her life there. He would break her neck. She closed her eyes and said a prayer that she would see her daughter soon.

The final impact never came. Instead, she heard the terrible sound of splintering wood and the thump of a body crashing to the floor. Her eyes snapped open to find her attacker sprawled in a heap of broken table. He was flailing, swearing. The other two shinobi wore expressions of astonishment, which swiftly became murderous.

Disoriented, Ota followed their gaze. Iruka stood over her, breathing heavily, and for the first time she saw him with closed fists. As her head cleared she began to understand what happened. He had thrown that man – that _shinobi_ – across the room, and in doing so he had revealed himself.

"You." The broad-shouldered shinobi regained his feet, and his voice was no longer lustful or even angry. There was a killing light in his eyes. He said, "You're the one we've been looking for."

Iruka didn't meet the description of 'a white haired man', but that made no difference to them now. They knew him for what he was. Not a servant in a backwoods inn. He was a ninja.

"You should leave," Iruka challenged them, and it was brave. Yet what could he really do? True, in a moment of surprise he had landed a blow. But he was wounded, and they were not. They were armed, and he was not. He was alone, and they were not. Still he stepped between them and Ota. His shoulders relaxed, and his whole body transformed as he gathered himself in a readiness to fight.

'_He has no chance_,' Ota thought.

And she was right. They leapt at each other, and there was the impression of force and the crunch of splinters spraying from a wall as someone flew into it. It took all three of them, but steel was the deciding factor. An arrowhead knife appeared and cut through the air. Too busy fending off fists and feet, Iruka couldn't block it. It sunk deep into his shoulder, and in that moment they had him pinned, blood already blooming through his shirt where the knife had been driven in.

The heavily muscled shinobi leaned over Iruka while the others held him down. "You know," he said. "I don't think we're going to bother bringing you in. We're going to kill you right here." And the shinobi put the tip of his knife to Iruka's neck.

Ota screamed.

And then all the shinobi froze. At first she didn't understand why. Then, as the strangely shaped knife fell with a clatter to the floor, Ota saw the reason the men had stopped. There were three sharp splinters of wood, directly through their throats.

In the next instant, they fell like puppets whose strings had been cut, and the _tatami _floor quickly soaked up their blood, leaving stains that would never come out.

Ota felt her hands clasping together, so paralyzed by shock she simply couldn't process what had happened. It was Iruka's voice that explained it to her. Still half-trapped under the bodies of his would-be murders, he exclaimed, "Kakashi!"

The shock of white hair could belong to no one else. He stood, supported by Sonosuke, one hand braced on the wall. But though he was breathing roughly with exertion, he still kept his focus on the dead men with eyes like a predator.

He shook himself when Iruka called his name, muttering, "Always have to rescue you."

Iruka sputtered with relieved, half-hysterical laughter.

* * *

Kakashi was still upright. It was clear to Ota that he could barely sustain the effort, but now that he was, he refused to lay down again. Instead, he sat with his hand on Iruka's shoulder while Sonosuke bandaged the knife wound. It was strange to see their roles reversed.

Ota waited until all hurts had been tended. The husband and wife were resting quietly now, though it had taken some effort to convince them it would be more dangerous to leave than to wait until morning. Two ruined _tatami_ mats were outside, covering three bodies. As they moved them, all Ota could think about was that one could easily have been hers.

From the dresser in her bedroom, she retrieved one of the three small items and carried it to the room which had, until recently, been completely closed off. She sat in front of her two saviors, and laid the little portrait before them. From it, the face of a small girl smiled. A tiny rose was twisted in her hair.

She spoke to Iruka. "Once, you asked me why I hated you." Swallowing deeply around great pain, she said, "This is my daughter."

"Ota-san, you don't have to –" Iruka tried to speak, but she shushed him with a hand.

"My husband and I were young when we built this inn. We heard about the warring daimyo, but that didn't worry us. Everything we knew of shinobi came from stories I read to my daughter. In the tales they always seemed brave, strong."

Overcome, she waited for her clicking throat to reopen.

"Then one night when my husband was gone, the doors were forced open. They were soldiers. They took everything they could carry. Nothing was sacred. My daughter –" Her throat closed. "I fought them, but they locked me in the pantry. I dashed myself against that door. I tore at it until all my fingers were broken."

She lifted her crooked fingers, the joints of which were fused painfully now. A reminder.

"It was late the next morning before my husband came back. I found my daughter in this room. She was lying facedown in a smear of blood. Her soul was already gone."

There was one last admission, one more baring of her own heart. "When you came, I thought I would get my revenge by forcing you like I had so often been forced. In my mind, you were the same as my daughter's murders. I wanted to believe that more than anything."

She looked at them, their wounded, weak bodies and their strong, noble eyes. She had taken out her pain on Iruka, who even now looked at her with sympathy.

"I was wrong," she said, and tears of regret sloughed down the carven lines of her face. She sobbed. "I was wrong."

* * *

Of course, after what had happened, it wasn't safe for Kakashi and Iruka to stay. The death of the three shinobi would be noticed very soon, so they planned to say goodbye at first light.

Ota made sure they were equipped with all they would need, packing food that would keep well and dressing both men in the warmest clothes that could be found. It hurt to see them go without their full strength, but Iruka assured her that they had been forced to travel in much worse conditions.

"We'll be fine," he said, looking at her quite warmly. She had been humbled by his forgiveness. Without the constraint of her antipathy between them, she witnessed his natural kindness, which both soothed her and fed her regrets.

She stood by as Sonosuke and Iruka exchanged goodbyes, the elder dragging the younger into an embrace. Kakashi watched impassively. He was a different creature on his feet. Reserved, and very tall. He kept his eye on Iruka with a protective watchfulness Ota recognized.

Quietly, and mostly to herself, she murmured, "I still can't believe how badly I misjudged him."

Kakashi said, "First impressions can't always be trusted."

"You don't think so?"

"No. And especially not with Iruka. I have to redefine him at least once a week."

A laugh forced its way from her throat. She'd heard the hidden fondness in his gruff voice – testimony to a friendship she couldn't believe she had thought them incapable of, simply because they were shinobi.

It made the guilt fall against her shoulders, weighing them down once more. She said, "I'll never forget the wrong I did him."

"Nor should you," Kakashi rumbled. He looked at her with a gimlet eye, and she knew that though their hostility had passed, he would never completely forgive her. And maybe he shouldn't.

"Ready?" Iruka questioned. He had finished his farewell, and hefted a pack gingerly over his shoulders.

Behind him, Sonosuke was bundled up to travel into town. There, he would report the rogue shinobi attack, and how they had been unable to do anything but helplessly watch. Of course, Sonosuke planned to walk very slowly, and he intended to say that when the enemy ninja left, he had fled to the north.

Iruka took her hands one last time, squeezing them gently. "Take care, Ota-san," he said.

Fighting not to let emotion close her throat, she responded, "Please be careful."

Then they left. Ota was able to watch them for only a few footfalls, and then the trees wrapped around them like old friends. In an instant they were gone, lost under the branches and a flurry of snow.

* * *

Many weeks later, Ota received a letter. It was written on parchment, and when she unrolled the message, she found only a few short words:

"_Home safe. Recovered and well. Thank you, Ota-san, for all that you did."_

And, scrawled in the corner in a much messier and entirely different hand:

"_Let her go. Live in peace.__Don't forget."_

She never did.

* * *

Author's Note: You may have noticed the timeline for this story falls sometime after "Mythos of a Shepherd", and a few details snuck in from that storyline. It's not really the same kind of story I usually write, but I hope that you all enjoyed it for what it is. I thank you for the comments you have left during this long process of reposting. At present, I'm finished. All the stories I intended to put back up are up. If there was something you wanted to see again that didn't make the cut, you'll have to let me know. There will be a final chapter for "Ripples in an Ocean" at some point, though I may post it as a one-shot. It will be my goodbye to this genre, so to speak: 30 Ways to Say a Single Farewell. Don't forget to leave final comments for this chapter. Thank you.


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